


Words Unsaid

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bad Jokes, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is looking for company out of the cold.  Varric is only too happy to oblige.</p><p>(Bad jokes, silliness, and utter fluff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Unsaid

Marian Hawke shivered, blowing on her hands as she made her way down into Lowtown.  Winter in Kirkwall was far milder than it had ever been in Ferelden, but the chill, encouraged by the stone around her, still seeped into her bones.  She wished she had remembered to bring gloves, though soon enough she would be in the bawdy warmth of the Hanged Man. **  
**

The wind flared, a cold blast hitting her right in the face.  She winced; glad as she was to not have snow or sleet on the air, the force of it still made her eyes water.

She fairly skipped down the stairs in the deserted Lowtown marketplace, the walls of the Hanged Man coming into view.  A raw, glad feeling spread from her chest.  It’d be good to see Varric and the others tonight, here in this place that had become a second home to their ragtag little group.

She entered the pub, throwing open the heavy door behind her.  She grinned, seeing the familiar surroundings.  Her mother hated how much time she spent here, but then again, everyone deserved to blow off a little steam.  

She glanced around, but didn’t see Isabela in her regular place by the bar.  Perhaps the pirate was off on another of her mysterious adventures around the city.  Hawke was a bit disappointed; Isabela’s ribald tales always made for exciting evenings.  She scanned the tables, realizing that Anders was probably off in his clinic (somehow emergencies always seemed to happen at night) and that Fenris wasn’t there, either, perhaps keeping watch at Danarius’ abandoned mansion.  She remembered with annoyance that Aveline was on duty tonight, and that Merrill had mentioned earlier she wasn’t feeling well.  She cursed herself for not remembering that before she had ventured out into the cold.

Surely Varric was here, though, she hoped.  The idea of his warm grin, his smooth, storyteller’s voice, and his laugh cheered her.  She didn’t see him down in the lower bar area, and took the stairs up to his suite.  

To her delight the barmaid was just passing by Varric’s room.  “Two ales, please, for Master Tethras and myself,” said Hawke.  She handed the girl two silvers and the barmaid nodded.

“I’ll be along shortly, serah,” she said.  

Hawke knocked on Varric’s door, beaming when Varric answered.  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Fereldan!” said Varric.  “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” said Hawke.  “It’s cold outside, and I felt like a laugh with friends.”  She chuckled.  “Though, it appears I’m rather a bit short on the friends at the moment.  Didn’t see a one downstairs.”

“But you knew you could always rely on the trusty dwarf?” said Varric, waggling an eyebrow.  “I could be offended at the idea that I have no life outside the Hanged Man, but we both know it’s true.  Come on in.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Varric,” said Hawke, playfully reaching down to nudge him in the shoulder as she followed him into the suite.  She always liked tapping him there – something about how solid he was, the way his shoulder felt beneath her hand.  He laughed, obviously pleased with himself.

Sheets of parchment were scattered widely over the large table, with a few bent quills shoved off to the side and a ready stock of ink at easy reach.  “Forgive the mess,” said Varric.  “Working on a new book.”

“That’s got to be better than dealing with the merchants’ guild, hasn’t it?” asked Hawke.  She took a seat one end of the table, Varric settling down at the corner across from her.  

“Oh, it depends,” he said, eyes twinkling.  “Having to deal with frustrating fictional characters instead of real ones can be harder than it looks.”

Hawke reached out a hand for the nearest sheet of parchment.  “May I take a look?  Is this one another murder mystery?”  Her eyes skimmed over the paper, neat lines of flowing script one after the other.  Maker, but he had nice handwriting, much nicer than her own.  

“Trying my hand at a romance,” said Varric, shrugging.  “Trouble is, it’s crap.  I don’t think it’s my strong suit.  You can look at it if you like, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  He almost looked embarrassed, an idea which, on the face of it, seemed impossible.

She scanned the scene, which was rife with double entendres that sort of worked, but didn’t flow as well as his normal dialogue did.  “It’s a bit stiff,” she said, then laughed at her joke.  “Not in the way perhaps you meant it!  But really though, we never do hear you talk about a special someone, now do we?” asked Hawke.  “Perhaps you simply need more firsthand experience.  You know, to get the details right.”  

There was a beat, and for a moment Varric looked at her, head slightly tilted, a faint smile playing across his lips.  She found herself suddenly flustered.

They were interrupted by the barmaid’s arrival, who let herself in with two tankards filled to the brim.  “Thank you,” said Hawke.  “This round’s on me, Varric.”

“If you insist.  I’ll get the next then,” he said, nodding to the barmaid, who took her leave.  He took a long draught of his ale, and Hawke did the same with her own.  “Now, where were we?”

Hawke wrapped her hands around her mug of ale, her stomach squirming in a way that had nothing to do with the drink.  “Is there, then?” she asked hurriedly.  “A special someone?”  It seemed important to know, somehow.

“Well, there was that time with Fenris and Anders and the best girls at the Blooming Rose –”  At her stupefied look Varric laughed.  “Just kidding, Hawke!  That would be some _incredibly_ weird shit.  Seriously though…”  His smile faded.  “You really want to know?”

“Yes,” said Hawke, taking a drink.  She felt unexpectedly anxious.  “How many years has it been that I’ve known you, and somehow this has never come up?”

“It’s been three,” said Varric.  He looked into the corner, where Bianca was propped up lovingly against the wall.  He looked serious, a muscle in his jaw flickering.  “There was someone.  A woman.  I promised her I’d never tell the story, but suffice it to say, there _is_ a story.”

“Is, or _was_?” Hawke asked keenly.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he asked, taking another drink.  “You could get a different answer from a dozen people.”

“The way I see it, the only answers that matter are yours and hers,” she said.  

“They might be different, too,” said Varric, pursing his lips.  “And that’s the problem.”  

“I’m sorry, I think,” said Hawke, though truthfully she wasn’t sure what to make of it.  She could tell that prying for more details would not be helpful; something about the squared off set of his shoulders said it better than his mouth could.

“I used to be,” said Varric.  “But… not so much, these days.  I’ve closed that chapter.”  He drank again, draining his glass.  “Want another round, Hawke?  My treat, this time.”  He stood up, stretching, and Hawke couldn’t help but stare at the way his bare chest looked as he stretched his arms up above his head.  

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?  Stretch?  Gotta exercise my natural flexibility.  We dwarves are known for it.”

“No, I mean, never cover your chest.”

Varric laughed, a short bark of a noise.  “You’re all about the personal questions tonight, aren’t you?”

She settled back in her chair.  “Sounds like someone’s getting defensive,” she said wryly.

“I like the look,” said Varric.  His smile revealed bright and even teeth.  “Simple as that.”

“Well, so do I.”  She smiled, but she didn’t laugh as if it was a joke.

Another beat.  There was something different to his face – an almost startled look, a hint of welcome surprise.  “Glad to hear it,” he said thoughtfully, and for once there was no accompanying jest, no self-deprecation or boastful tall tale.  “I, uh, I’ll be back with the next round.”  He stepped outside, and Hawke buried her face in her hands, stifling rising butterflies.

 _Shit,_ she thought.   _Shit shit shit!_

Hawke briefly considered making a run for it.  She could probably sneak out the front door of the Hanged Man while he was ordering the next set of drinks, tell him in the morning that she had had urgent business to attend to.  Doubtless he would see through it immediately – he always did – but he would pretend along if she needed him to.  

That was just Varric, wasn’t it?  Always there.  Always supportive.  Ready to stand behind her at a moment’s notice or give her a hand up when she needed it.  Her world had been turned upside down ever since Lothering, but Varric had rapidly become an essential part of her new life.  Always as a friend, she’d thought, but what if – what if he could be something more?

And was that something he might even want?

She lifted her head from her hands, stared around his quarters.  Her eyes landed on the parchment in front of her, and she pulled out a crumpled sheet from the bottom of the stack, this one with Varric’s neat handwriting crossing out large sections.  

_The woman stood in the Hightown shadows, moonlight glimmering in her icy blue eyes.  Her full lips curved into a smile as she watched him approach.  How she had longed for this moment!  Unable to help herself, she dashed forward from the safety of the shadows, her raven hair streaming behind her.  She called his name with an urgent breathlessness, and he met her in the square, reaching up to take her hands.  She gazed down at him, leaning in for a kiss –_

The whole paragraph was crossed out, with a few notes scribbled beside the margin. _Too obvious!_ was circled.  Next to it was a faint _Cheesy, even for me!_

Hawke reached up, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes.  Blue eyes.  She stared at the parchment, mouth dropping open slightly.

“Varric, you sneaky _bastard_ ,” she muttered under her breath.  Now what?

The door creaked open, and she startled, shoving the parchment back in the general mash of them.  She gulped down the rest of her drink and shot Varric a grin.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, hefting two more tankards and setting them down on the table.  He sat down beside her.  Was it imagination, or had he nudged his chair closer?  She hadn’t thought that they were this close before, their arms nearly touching on the armrests of their seats.

“Um, yes,” Hawke said clumsily.  She held up her tankard.  “To us!” she said, clinking her glass against Varric’s.

“To us,” he echoed, and he looked torn.  He was quiet for a moment.

“Everything all right?” she asked him, leaning towards him.  Leaned over like this, sitting down, she did not tower over him nearly as much as when she stood.

“Hawke,” he said carefully.  He made as if to speak, but closed his mouth instead, apparently deep in thought.  

“Mmm, I’ll take that as a no then.  Come on, Varric,” she said.  Her arm brushed against his, the muscles against her arm firm and solid.  “You can tell me anything.”

“Ahhh, Hawke, I’d like to believe that,” said Varric, putting on a sly grin, “but there’s some things that are better left unsaid.”  The grin faded, and he looked almost – anxious.  He inched toward her, their arms no longer simply brushing but actually held against each other’s, the contact making her shiver.

The air between them – did it crackle?  It felt charged, the way Bethany’s magic used to sear the air.  Hawke was very still.  Well, if he wouldn’t, she _would._

“Perhaps I’d better say it, then –” she started, but before she could finish her sentence, Varric reached out with his other arm and pulled her into an embrace.  She stared at him for an instant, his tawny eyes wide and hopeful – and he stretched up, and she leaned down, and the kiss was unexpectedly soft, tender, warm.

Varric broke the kiss first, pulling back reluctantly.  The smile he wore carried no hint of a joke – it was too silly and unrestrained for that, his whole face creasing with it.  “See?” he said.  “Sometimes, words just get in the way.”

Hawke chuckled, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his.  His breath against her cheeks was more welcome than she would have guessed.  “So… how long?” she asked.

“Now that is a very personal ques– Oh.  Never mind,” joked Varric, his familiar voice a comfort in her ears.  “If you mean how long I’ve wanted to do that – not sure exactly.  You grew on me by degrees, Hawke.”

She shifted her head, kissed him on the bend in the bridge of his nose.  She loved that little spot.  He grinned again when she did it, another of those silly, utterly unguarded grins she had never really seen before on him.  “I’ve only just figured it out now,” she admitted.  “I uh… may have had a glance at your rough draft, which helped me cotton on.”

Varric threw his head back and laughed.  “Oh, no, you read that shit?  I think I was so drunk I was one foot in the Stone when I wrote that.  Should’ve burned it when I came to, but… well… call me sentimental.”  

“Do you really think of my hair as raven?  It’s just black, Varric.  Besides, that’s mixing bird types – hawks and ravens – that just gets weird.”

“I told you it was shit, you don’t need to tell me twice,” he said, chuckling.  He reached up, brushed an errant strand behind her ear.  His fingers were surprisingly soft.  “Go on, tell me how terrible it is.  Twist the knife.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” said Hawke, relaxing into his touch.  “You were probably hoping I’d discover it, that I’d raise the issue first and save you the trouble.”

“I’d never come up with such a nefarious plan.  You give me _far_ too much credit.”

“That I do,” said Hawke.  “But I have an excuse.  I like you.  Rather a lot.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, that’s all right then,” said Varric, and he kissed her again.  

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around him, marveling at the span of his shoulders, the way he felt pressed against her.  His mouth against hers was fiercer now, and she lost herself in his arms, grateful she would not need to brave the cold again tonight.


End file.
